


The CALM Of A LAMP

by LiamsLetter



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, High School, M/M, Multi, Thomas Sanders References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiamsLetter/pseuds/LiamsLetter
Summary: Six...Six lights, driven by unmatched attentive feelings, carved into the history of the afterlife. Six children born on the same day, at similar times, born from light and shade. Different places, different families, different names, and ethnicities. Still, these six will soon find each other under The Calm of a Lamp.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	The CALM Of A LAMP

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Sad Remus, Mention of past injuries and small descriptions of said injury, sad Virgil, The terrors of being in a Hispanic family. (I’m using google translate for the majority of this, so things will probably be mistranslated and it’s gonna be weird.)

There was a slight flicker that could barely be seen by the commotion in the room. One that did not drag the attention of the racing people who scurried around small cries that filled the area, and a mother holding onto her child with caring eyes that locked onto the infant who had taken all of her attention. This flicker was not one where the light turned on and off slightly, but It was one where the light had slightly shifted color as if it wanted to look at what was in front of it before disappearing altogether. That color holding tints of pink through what was originally purple hues that could not completely go through from the white light that it invaded. This purple hue would have to wait in the soft light of the lamp until it could strike.

In a completely different place, another light appeared, originally holding a beam of dark reddish-brown, almost black even. No one saw as the dark dim light stared down, proceeding to split in two as it held the hand of trading color schemes from opposing forces. One of fire red that became pale from the light and the other a vibrant green that had brightened its defining hues with the pureness of a white light that illuminated the room. These two colors birthed a simmering shine of horrid haunted scenery and warmth that enveloped the two parents who held onto twins. Two twins of identical looks, both birthed from a trans father not fully transitioned and another dad who wore the tears that fled from tired sockets and paced down loving, smiling lips. These two colors waited on opposite sides of a lamp that held two lights, hoping to pounce on first prey.

With not much of a home around, this light had only filled more color to an already yellow glow that stained only one of the many street lamps. Outside, screams and fear bolted themselves around a very dark alleyway, through deafening sounds and laughter hauled around bad smells and basic scenery. Noises quickly shut down once a final pitch quickly spread around and echoed on the gritty walls, stopping only when a finishing red had painted itself on the splattered concrete ground. With nothing else to do, the one who held the blood on their hands fled the scene and saw as people panicked and screamed from the pitiful pitch, all dashing in opposite directions, hoping to not be next. With not much of a choice, the light flew to the one who shamefully had their life taken away, a mother to be exact. One who was due today, and one who is now dead, though the light did not make it on time as forces had already arrived at the scene, only to have their sight filled with horror as they encountered the now dead and pregnant women. With not much else to do, the light waited in the street lamp.

Fleeing from bleak to now cheerful scenery, this light drifted to a very bright shade of blue with another following suit holding the charge of a pastel pink tint. Together, they paused onto one single lamp, not mixing together, but still resting with one another by each other’s side. Two mothers in the same room. Ones who know each other through a history of hearts and broken pieces, mended by similarities of past significant others. Their children were related in a way of false love and cheated kisses that passed through the other’s lips. Half brothers, unlike twins, but still barred the time of their birth in the same year and day. The two lights stayed close to one another, like lovebugs unable to separate, waiting in the lamp.

Not a minute later, a dark blue light appeared in a very ancestral and calculated state at a completely different hospital. A mother had just given birth to her child, while the father talked to the doctor about the circumcision, all while this baby did not show any signs of tears or wild tantrum. He was healthy, and he was breathing fairly well as the doctors let the mother hold her child. She was happy for the experience to be over, even if it didn’t quite hurt as much as everyone had respectfully warned. No ear-splitting screams, or pain of any unimaginable intensity. It was just a peaceful birth, or at least, as peaceful as birth can get. Nonetheless, as all the other lights had been, this one waited for its own timer to count down, initiating the time for their arrival as it waited in a lamp.

Finally, dark a gritty, not even filled with brightly colored hues, the concluding light had found its target. Chaos ensued in the room, a chilled half-dead child whose breath did not flow and whose cries could not be heard over the chokes and tears from the mother and father. He was taken immediately to a different room while the screams and screeches got louder and more direct as the parents tried to raise hope. This light moved through many different light sources, creating a dark and continuous aura that flew around the child and sunk into its skin. No one saw as its greyish tint grew brighter and brighter, blinding the people around, too excited to wait as the others did.

One by one, the lights flew to their direct child, and one by one, the blinding lights grew. The lamps that held the lights fluttered through the breaths of panting mothers or fathers, single or not. Each child, reaching a state of loneliness, seemed to shine in a saluted state, with no eyes reaching them but the ones that shunned from the pureness of each colored luminescence. They shined brightly, like nothing anyone had ever seen and before they knew it, the shine had just turned into thought in their minds without a second reflection about what had just transpired, minds simply blank. Purple, Pink, Red, Green, Grey, Yellow, And Blue of dark and light color schemes. No more crying could be heard, as it was all just calm, and the flicker of the lamp was all the light that was left.

“What do you think?” A whisper came, asking an age-old question seeming to be bound on the jungles of forest and concrete. A hand of a second form laid upon this whisper, black and white wisps of latching, clashing nails pressed firmly on its temple. 

“They are not ready, and you know that,” A second whisper said though in the place of a third figure who seemed to flee in the background as if shunning itself in its own umbra without remorse. 

The hand that had formerly played on the first whisper detached their talon-like claws, fleeing to the third figure in the dark with the lightest thing seen being the feathers of the clawed hazard, fluttering and dragging down multi-colored wings. They wrapped their arms around the shadow, bringing them a light that almost overthrew it. 

“Don’t be so negative. Their mission will bring our worlds to a collision. Baby's all over the world are born on exact days at similar times. They have decided to be counters instead of guardians. Just like The Battle Of The Horns And The Hallows, they will be the ones who bring peace and bring forth another collide,” The feathered figure preached, their words of whispers boomed through the motionless void.

“They risked the very lives of those who they hope to protect. The young who are dead before they even live. The pitied, sainted sinners who live as they please down there in peace. They will risk their tranquility and expand their minds too much that I am to expect they will explode!” Yelled the third figure, still as dark and tainted in shadow as was before. The second and third figure saw the whisperer shift in place, a palm hovered over the planet earth, though smaller in frame it was. He stared down, enhancing the image into eight different moving pictures, each one holding the image of each chosen baby. He breathed a heavy sigh and frowned his brows as his nose scrunched up in his own concentration as he spoke.

“For now, they are to act as growing power and use Guide to their advantage. Suggestion after suggestion, these eight children will meet each other soon.” His eyes began to shut as the palms of his hands began to illuminate a pure white, then shifted to moving and changing tones of a more vibrant and diverse color scheme of rainbows with shades of every kind.

The dark shadow snapped and rose from the dark side of the void to the more white fraction, where the whisperer stood. It was here where their form truly showed. They were completely black, with nothing more than their orange eyes showing through the inky goop that encased its very being. This substance seemed to hang off them yet did not drip or detach as it simply flowed and draped around their body. It dragged behind them in globs of slime and rolled around itself like moving matter. They were angry and practically yelled in the whisperer’s face.

“By using Guide, They are practically detaching those poor children from their free will! Guide is not a simple suggestion, it is complete mind control!” Their hands flew around the air, feet planted firmly and body slouched with yellow-y greyish fangs bared at the other who still seemed to keep their eyes closed. 

The Feathered figure stepped out from the dark, into the light, and into the arms of the tar-covered black frame. Their multi-colored wings did not cling to the gluey substance as one would expect. On the contrary, they seemed to flick back the ink, revealing grey-tinted shoulders and arms below a purple cloth stitched to stained grey.

“It is more than reasonable to be skeptical, but they've dealt with larger forces before. Don't worry, he knows what he's doing..." The multi-colored figure had frozen mid-sentence, a look of distrust plastered on their face before it switched to confusion and then to defeat. They peered over to the whisperer, arms slightly loosening from their grasp on the shadowed ink.

“Right?” They asked, worried tones slipping past their lips, short spotted hair waving as they tilted slightly into a more comforting position, head placed softly on the shadow’s shoulder. It didn’t take long before the whisperer opened his eyes and peeked over at his two partners. He stared for a while, mind completely blank, unable to think of a suitable reply, though quickly sighed, a small smirk stretched through his lips. His eyes filled quickly like an overflowing pool of admiration and content.

“Yes, my taloned friend. Do not worry. They will be fine, as well as you two. I mean, I am entrusting my children of troubled times to you,” He said, giving one final smirk before turning back to the globe, spinning in his palms. The shadow seemed to perk up at this comment, hands now firmly grasping at the wrists of their feathered love.

“We will protect them, and make sure the personalities of these children stay true to experience instead of dreaded control,” They simply said, brushing their hands almost erotically through the feathers of the others’ wings. The feathered feined looked at the planet that hovered on delicate fingers with a skeptical look sketched on each detail. They tilted their head to the right, grasping on the hand of the inked figure and maneuvering it from their wings to their cheek, leaning into the touch. With that, the inked black and grey figure, and winged multi-colored being, both flashed into bright lights, more concentrated and detailed. They were both gone in an instant, leaving the whisperer to think upon the future. He stared at the globe in his hands and held the image close to his chest, before blowing on the image and making it disappear.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

“Where the actual FUCK are we going!?” Came a yell, out of breath and forced out by a puffed-up sigh which synced together with the running feet that scattered through the floor, falling behind from a pair of red boots attached to an equally worried prince. The one who yelled in question was wearing a dark hoodie patched together with streams of purple and hot pink, holding onto the hand of a cardigan-wearing teen who was running with them, seeming to fall behind the most out of the four who ran. The fourth figure being a student who wore a uniform in a school that did not enforce them, as well as wearing narrow rectangular glasses with a dark navy blue rim sliding down his nose. Behind these four was a sea of screams and shouts, all of which were attempting to grab at the fire red Prince who ran the fastest out of the four of them. Unrealistically fast even, as he seemed to be a few feet in front of the three who fell behind.

“My brother keeps the door from the trash shoot open! It’s just down this hall!” He yelled, sprinting further from the group without even breaking so much as a sweat, his red-heeled boots clicking rapidly as he ran. The three behind followed suit, but not without the purple-haired one nearly tripping over his feet, almost taking down the pastel blue boy with him.

“I’m sorry, WHAT!” He yelled, a wave of anger rising from his throat with an odd sound that he didn’t even recognize. It sounded like a growl, but if anyone heard it, they weren’t saying anything about it. “I am NOT jumping down some stinky trash shoot!” He kept a firm grip on the wrist that was attached to the young blue boy, yet it was the voice of the dark blue one who rose finally from the commotion. 

“I can concur amongst such proclamations. I, too, do not intend to reek of today’s leftover breakfast!” He exclaimed through frowned brows and a scrunched-up nose. The crowd kept on racing, pitter-patter through the halls addressing the teachers from their classes or lunch breaks out to the halls. The floors were like riots in a post-apocalyptic feeding frenzy with rabid animals ripping each other left and right. The prince sped through to the end of the hall and opened the latch to the already stink-fuming trash shoot. The others went wide-eyed at his speed but knew that dwelling on the situation should call for a better time.

“It’s either this or get trampled by a bunch of fans! Now jump. In!” He yelled, already leaping feet first into the opening, not even bothered by the smell as he’s lived with his brother his entire life. No one wanted this, and to be honest, they didn’t even know how they got into this situation in the first place. It all seemed to start this morning, on the first day of school, with these four kids, as well as four others, meeting in very unexpected ways.

[6:30 AM. Purple is the new Black]

“Mom, seriously I don’t feel well,” The sound of the wind swished past purple hair that seemed to be tucked under a grey and black jacket with purple and hot pink patches sewn into the seams. This young teen wore black ripped skinny jeans that wrapped tightly around his surprisingly thin waist. Not very surprising though as his binder tightened around his chest. Dark circles could be seen from under his eyes and a cup of tea was placed neatly between his palms where his fingerless gloves hung from his wrists by a strap. He really did feel sick to his stomach, and the constant reminder of his anxiety did not help with that.

“Virgil, dir geht es gut. Es sind nur ein paar Jitter am ersten Tag. [Virgil, you’re fine. They’re just first day jitters]” His mother said, reaching to her son’s side to pull his hood down before patting his slightly frizzled hair. She knew her son could be very anxious at times, but she also knew that his emotions could be dangerous if not handled with care. So, it was her responsibility at the moment to help calm down her son, and that included a cup of green tea to soothe his nerves and his thick hoodie that he received from a friend.

“It’s not just that mom.” He said with slight hurt eyes that stared down his freshly black painted nails. “I just… I wish we didn’t have to move so much. It’s bad enough that it was my fault we had to transfer again. I’m just… I’m so…” He wasn’t given time to finish his sentence, or more appropriately, his mother didn’t even LET him finish before she intruded with her very own comment.

“Es war nicht deine Schuld! [It was not your fault!]” She yelled, Her eyes stained her son’s heart and shot daggers into his chest. If possible, a third-degree burn would have accorded with how much her eyes blazed with maternal rage at her son.

“Yes, it was! Mom, you can’t just ignore the fact that I was careless and lost control. I started that fight and I hurt someone. I don’t even know why I insisted we move to Florida. Mama…Ich war ängstlich. Ich Habe Angst. [I was Scared. I AM sacred.]” He reminded with shaking hands that risked the spill of his tea. I would have spilled to if the cap wasn’t already tightly screwed to the cup. No amount of sheer will could prepare him for the big move that seemed to appear on their tri-monthly round. He knew it was his fault, and he knew that whatever would happen in this new school of his, he was sure definitely going to be kicked out once again or be forced to move because of bullies

“Gib mir einen wirklichen Grund, warum du nicht zur Schule gehen willst. [Give me a real reason why you don’t want to go to school.]” His mother said, hoping that the hours of the day would just blow away faster so that her son didn’t need to go through this once again. She knew she didn’t have time to homeschool him and he really didn’t need the constant reminder of repression and pills to keep him calm. Still, she knew he had to at least learn to develop his social skills and bubble out of his own anxiety, considering how severe it was. She really didn’t want to do this to him. She needed to help him as much as possible since she was his only parental figure. This was all she could think of.

“I don’t want to make friends ok? Ich möchte mich nicht an jemanden binden und dann drei Monate später gehen. [I don’t want to grow attached to someone and then leave three months later.]” He whispered, snow-white knuckles finally releasing the shaky teacup attached to his almost frozen fingers that cupped uncomfortably on the drink this time. The bags under his eyes might have been covered by thick black mascara, but he still knew they were there and he was tired. So very tired, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Vee, baby. Ich weiß, dass es immer schwierig ist, sich zu bewegen, und Sie sind immer noch nicht daran gewöhnt, aber ich weiß, dass Sie meiner kleinen Spinne mutig sein können. [I know that moving is always difficult and you’re still not used to it, but I know that you can be brave, my little spider.]” It wasn’t every day that Virgil’s mother called him her spider and she knew he didn’t particularly like it. He loved spiders, completely fascinated by them even, but he didn’t like being reminded of that. With that fact in mind, he didn’t particularly care at the moment when his mother brushed her fingers through his hair, or even when she stroked the back of her hand against his cheek. It was the fact that his mother cared enough for him that he knew she was doing the best for him, and she worked so hard to keep him happy, strong, and in check as well as calm.

He didn’t want to do this and any kid in their right mind would agree, but maybe he wasn’t all that in his right mind as he originally thought, cause before he could think any further and dig himself into a deeper, voided abyss, he leaned into his mother’s touch as much as possible, knowing he wouldn’t have it for long. The kind words of his mother, the tender and soft touches that he was never deprived of, the reassuring words that made him smile, and just knowing that he had her there with him. All of these would be taken from him in due time, or more precisely, right now as they arrived at the school. Virgil looked up at the building and all the kids who flooded down the streets and in through the doors. Some running up to their old friends, others who went to the front office, even some who were just saying goodbye to their families in an admittedly over-affectionate way with tears and all that. That one was actually what Virgil might do as he looked over to his mom and hoped that she would just bring him to work with her.

She didn’t though, as she parked in one of the visitor parking spots and gathered up Virgil’s belongings that rested at her seat. Virgil took one final swig of his tea and then exchanged it to his mom for his book bag. It was extremely heavy since he wanted to be prepared instead of embarrassing himself, knowing that if he didn’t have the right books or writing utensils, he’d have to ask somebody for theirs. That was not something he wanted to go through, just like he didn’t want to go through the painful goodbye that he had to give to his mother. It pained him to an unimaginable extent, and he only hoped that he could, at the very least, last up to about four months this time before moving schools again. His chest tightened and his heart ached, but he finally gave his mother a light hug as two tears fell down his eyes.

“None of that now Virgil.” His mother said, retracting from the hug and wiping his tears with a crooked finger. “Show me how a real Spider Storm bares his fangs.” Her words were filled with reassurance as well as mischief. Her son just needed to be reminded that he has the capability of scaring off any person who threatened him. He was strong and he knew that but he just needed the confidence to fuel that knowledge. With careful eyes darting around to make sure nobody was listening, Virgil let out a small sigh and stared back at his mother, a small smile creeping its way to his lips and a purple glint showing in his eyes.

“HISS!” He bared his teeth and his eyes began to glow an iridescent display of vivid violet. He did not have fangs but his voice was like that of a predator, and no one could mess with him. It was like a growl gurgled in his throat and pushed its way past his lips which were the closing gates of fear. His lips were the doors that stayed shut in order to keep in his behaviors and put him in his place. Stay quiet, it reminded him, but if he ever fought back those words, disobeyed the very fabric of its shackling ways, he would be a true monster, or a true hero. 

With a final goodbye, he tossed his book bag around his shoulders and waved his mother farewell as he jumped beyond the breaking point. He still shook in his shoes as he heard his mother back away from the parking spot and how the running of her car’s engine seemed to be getting farther and farther away. He still wanted to run as people began to walk past him like nothing was happening and like the world around him wasn’t spinning altogether. It was as if his own legs were moving on their own, betraying him of his own free will, but he didn’t mind. He had to do this and he was not going to get scared or back out now. He plasters a look on his face that made it seem like he was angry or annoyed, and at the moment, he was. He was mad, strong, and didn’t take shit from anyone at the moment. This was Virgil Storm, and slowly but surely, he made his way over the school’s doors.

[5:00 AM. A Prince And A Duke]

“WAKEY WAKEY NUT BAG!!! IT’S TIME FOR HELL!!!” A maniacal laugh boomed throughout the room as echoes of horrid screams and scratchy throats enveloped its surroundings. The one who was yelling, in question, was a 15-year-old boy wearing a light pastel green shirt with a grey patch of hair at the front of his face. Above his face actually, as he hung upside down from his bunk bed, already flipping over to jump right off and make a swift landing onto his twin brother’s chest, who was, a few seconds ago, fast asleep before being rudely awakened. On instinct, the twin brother, to which used to be fast asleep, kicked the other off his chest and onto the floor before shooting up from his previous position.

“Ow! Fuck! You bitch!” He yelled, hands on his chest as he tried to soothe that ache from his almost broken ribs. He hissed out in pain and bent over his legs, a red-hot rage pushing him up and off of his beg despite the disorder and discomfort that flooded his skin and bones. He wore a red tank top that read ‘I’m a virgin (But this is an old shirt)’, and a pair of high waist booty shorts that wrapped around him nicely. He stood in front of his twin brother, Remus, who let out a hyena laugh of high and low pitches altogether. Again, his voice rang around the room and bounced off the walls at a high speed that even Roman couldn’t reach. Roman being the twin that was now covering his ears from his twin brother’s overly villainous laugh.

Ai, por favor cállate por un segundo you raging rat monkey! Tu eres el demonio de mis sueños. [Oh, please shut up for one second you raging rat monkey! You are the demon of my dreams!]” Roman screeched, his own voice threatening to overpower his brother like a wolf battling for territory. Their sibling rivalry has always stayed strong, and their passion for disastrous situations is always at 100%, whether it be causing the disaster or preventing it. These two brothers were like the colliding shades of white and black, good and evil, hero and villain, except both had their fair share of saving and torturing in their past developments.

“¿Por qué no vas y comes una bolsa de penes de ballena tu pobre excusa de un Mexicano! [Why don’t you go and eat a bag of whale penises you poor excuse of a Mexican!]” Remus retorted, another long and extended laugh running through his throat, as he would like to put it. Remus finally got up from his spot and took a short swan dive outside of the door once he realized that Roman legs started to twitch, a shocked and excited smile plastered on his face when he realized he made his brother mad. When he leaped through the door, he could hear his brother scream from behind him where he still stood in their room.

“We’re Puerto Rican you piece of racist ape shit!” And with that, Roman sped his way through the halls, and in less than a single second, caught up to his brother, who only laughed when he got pulled up from his shirt’s collar, letting out a few stretched sounds that revealed the loose fabric of his worn-out shirt. Remus was mischievous, and his brother wasn’t the only one with freakishly fascinating abilities, which only brought up the inevitable fight that brought the two of them to a full-out brawl. Roman didn’t think that Remus’ smile could get any bigger or creepier, but he was always one to surprise. 

“It’s not racist if it’s about my own race!” Remus yelled, his hands growing thrice their size, parting him from his brother's hold and bouncing his way through the stairs. Roman fell flat on his back and let out a tired grunt mixed together with a yelp of another wave of pain and surprise. He hated when his brother did that and Roman’s brows frowned as he let out a wicked growl that fueled his blood through his veins. His eyes turned red and his hair began to spark with life. It became pointed and turned into a crooked quiff, unlike before when his curly semi-hair was fully flat on his head. He watched as his brother rolled down the stairs, his hands deflated in size and his laugh rose up one again before stopping with a hard thump that ended at the bottom of the stairs. 

At the bottom of the stairs was their dad, or dads more precisely. Two who stared down at their grey-haired son with a furious rage that, by this point, didn’t have as much of an effect as it did when they were younger. It was the same routine every morning. Remus would wake up first and then annoy his brother into a well-filled burst of fire-fueled oil spills that shook the house and soaked the metaphorical sea of siblingship to be a little more tainted than it already was. In their own words, they would say ‘Nowhere in the rule book of twins does it say we have to like each other!’ Once they were done resisting their death wish, they were immediately hit in the head with a chancleta [Slipper] and then told to finish the chores around the house as punishment. Today, however, they had school and their dads did not have the energy to deal with their son’s supernatural abilities. 

Before he knew it, Remus was grabbed by the back of his shirt and pulled up to his feet and above the ground where he was now at eye level with his dad, like a kitten who was grabbed by the back of its scruff. He flinched when he saw the burning fire that seemed to engulf his dad’s eyes, metaphorically of course. He heard his other dad, to which he called Papá, stomp upstairs and scream for Roman to come down immediately as Remus himself was dragged to the small couch that was placed inside their oversized kitchen. The couch was layered in Hispanic-themed blankets and throw pillows, which the twins had actually used for throwing before, that a grandma would probably make. Their kitchen was like a second living room that was filled with pantry utensils.

Roman was being dragged into the room by his shoulder with a very pissed-off dad that scowled at the other twin before dropping Roman next to him. Both parents stood in front of their sons and crossed their arms like any reasonable adult would do if their power-hungry kids sprang up into another fight. Any other day, they would have understood. They would have given their kids a stern talking to, even if that didn’t really make a difference, and then let them be on their way with close eyes that glued on the two of them. Today though, the paternal figures were not going to go along with their shenanigans and bullshit. 

“Que les pasa a ustedes dos!? Ni siquiera estás en la escuela y ya estas actuando mal! [What is wrong with you two! You aren’t even in school yet and you’re already acting up!]” Their dad said, a man named Romulus Prince, who stood at the left of the two fathers. The other father to the right was named Romeo Duke, a house decorator which contrasted to the constructor that stood next to him. Both of them were the caretakers of the main characters “The Prince and The Duke”. A stage name that the twins shared when they were in front of the camera, acting out their parts in their play. The play actually being a Disney show that the two of them starred in before their parents realized that they were being deprived of a normal childhood.

“But Papá!” Roman yelled, Already standing up to explain that he wasn’t in the wrong and that it was Remus who started it. Of course, his parents already knew that he wasn’t all at fault, but they also knew that he had the capability of being at fault and that he chased after his brother just to beat him up like they usually did when they woke up. Still, they didn’t want to put up with their kids today.

“I don’t want to hear it Roman!” Romulus yelled, his hand already up to stop Roman from continuing or from standing up as he fell back down on the couch. Remus began to fidget in his seat, his hands twitching and rubbing against each other as he tried to come up with an excuse. He looked down at the floor and then up at the ceiling and then down to the kitchen counter, trying as hard as he could to not make eye contact with his dad’s. He tried to spill out a few words that could potentially help his case.

“We were just-” And just like that, Remus was cut off before he could even get a full sentence out. Romeo, the significant other of Romulus, did not want to put up with his son’s empty excuses either. A Hispanic family can be strict at times, but they do know how to keep the family together and happy. At least they try to. Compared to most, the Prince and Duke family was small with not many cousins or aunts and uncles to hang around. All were across the Spanish parts of the world or in different states. Roman and Remus grew up in America, so they didn’t know every Spanish word there was, but they could still keep a conversation up and running. At least Roman can, but Remus still needed some help, which is why their father, Romeo, always tried to remind them as much as possible.

“En este momento, sólo puedes hablar en español, Me oyes?! [At this moment, you can only speak in Spanish, do you hear me?!]” Romeo yelled, repeating Romulus’ movements, waving his hand up and cutting Remus off before he could continue. Knowing Remus, he quickly kept quiet in shock, but a frown of slight melancholy drenched his face, and as quickly as he was cut off, he pushed a little and barked up a retort.

“What?! Why just me!? Why doesn’t Roman get-” He stopped once he saw that all to knowing glare that erupted from Romeo. He didn’t show any signs of anger or strain, and his facial features began to relax. It was his eyes that scared Remus. Mostly, the right one.

His right eye was completely blind and grey with bright pink scar scratches fluttering the rim of his eyes like butterfly kisses and light dabbed freckle stains. A stitch scar could still be seen at the side of his head where he had to get surgery. His eye sockets, the bones that stood there, had once broken in half, pieces of glass piercing inside if his face once his head was accidentally bashed against the kitchen counter and onto a glass cup. The blood could still be remembered, its iron smell still piercing everyone’s nostrils like a puncture wound, and the screams could still be heard, everyone around the room started running like crazy madmen, except for one who stood still in shock of the room and the silence in his head. The first time he’d ever seen Romeo bleed. With the memory lingering in his mind, Remus stood still and looked down at his hands.

“Say that in Spanish and maybe I JUST might listen to you complaining like a baby!” Romeo snapped, his eyes already darting over to the chancleta that slipped off his feet and laid under his toes, like a finger just about to pull the trigger. That didn’t scare Remus, to say the least, but he knew better than to push his limits with his parents, cause he knew what they were capable of. Years upon years of living with twins that acted like radioactive bombs in an arsenal full of weapons and cheat codes that only they could access. Their parents had seemed to find a way into that arsenal, penetrating the walls of their kingdom that they thought were impenetrable, but weren’t. The twins found that out the hard way, and soon, they were overthrown by the next kingdoms over. No, they were overthrown by the anonymous, that is to say, the people who nobody knew. The people with the most amount of power. They were the people that brought down the corrupted before they brought havoc to the kingdom. The ones who challenged the gods, and who walked among the living.

They were the ones to beat the hell out of their children if they misbehaved, but in a Spanish way.

Anyway, Remus kept quiet after that and glued his eyes to the floor again, bowing his head down in discomfort as his fingers latched to each other on his lap. Roman, on the other hand, had gently crossed his arms over his chest and brushed his fingers against his skin, one hand rubbing against his arm, the other slumping awkwardly down against his chest. Roman and Remus were identical twins, but over time, their features seemed to change and the differences between the two became more and more apparent. Remus had eyes that widened with awakened excitement that seemed to never decay, but around those eyes were dark shades of purple bags that read tiered. His hair had a natural grey patch of fur near the front of it, not due to stress but just due to genetics. He was the owner of a peach fuzz that couldn’t really grow past that amount of hair at the moment, and ironically enough, a mustache that had to constantly be trimmed down just so it covered the top part of his lip instead of his entire mouth.

Roman, on the other hand, had skin that was the literal embodiment of Hispanic culture. It was a light brownish shade that really threw off if he was actually black or white. Most would assume he’s mixed, but in reality, he just spends way too much time in the sun, it’s surprising how his skin hasn’t turned dark red yet. His hair was wavy and short while Remus rocked the flowy curled hair that sat on his head like a mop. It was a mess, and at the moment, it stuck out in so many different directions, you would think it was a hair jell experiment gone wrong. They may be identical, but you would never have any trouble figuring out who was who. That being said, at this moment, you could really see where the similarities in personality begin. The pout on both of their faces seemed so real and genuine, it almost shocked the two paternal figures in front of them. Almost.

Romulus’ hand reached up to rub his temple, already feeling the headache reside within him. He placed his middle finger right between his ears and his brows and slid them slowly down his face before cupping the palms of his hands on his cheeks in a position that made his fingers cover his eyes. In a way that would be described as over exaggerating, he would say he wanted to cry, and if he was anything like his son Roman, he actually might have. It was just the look on his kid’s faces that made him refrain. They were so timid now and that unsettled him. He didn’t like seeing his kids like this, but their behavior is more terrible than what it was when they hit puberty. With a final sigh, Romulus was the one to speak up next.

“Roman, I want you to prepare your things for school, as well as Remus’. Remus, you’re going to help your Dad with breakfast, got it?” Romulus watched his kids in silence, very well wanting them to reply to him, hoping that they had listened to his instructions. He already knew they heard him, but he refused to stand there and at least not get a reaction from his two troublemakers. He saw Roman look up first, his expression still as sad and timid as before.

“Yeah,” He simply said, arms already unfolding to place his hands on his lap. Romulus was semi-satisfied with Roman’s response, so he let it be for now. Who he really wanted a reaction out of was the twin that sat next to him. Remus still kept his head duked, already fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, not wanting to make any eye contact, or even contact in general. But, against his own hope, he felt a hand reach for his face and flinch. What he thought was going to be a hit, was actually a small pat that perched on the top of his head. He looked up slowly and saw Romeo there, soft eyes sadly staring at him. Remus was scared of that eye and the memories it brings. He really does hate it.

“You guys have been living a life of luxury and secrecy for a very long time, but it’s time for the two of you to get real practice in. You’re not heroes or villains in the real world. You’re Roman Prince and Remus Duke. Two normal twins in a society full of…“

“Whack jobs, Murderers, psychopaths, and sociopaths,” Remus said, interrupting his dad and flinching away from his touch, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Both Roman and Remus wanted to go to Florida at some point, but they don’t remember agreeing with their parents to move to Florida and cut off the contract they had made with Disney. The contract had actually expired by then, but they still wanted to continue acting and just be themselves. They didn’t want to join a society that built up unnecessary gender roles and false accusations that no one wanted to hear the excuse to. Remus knew all of this, though Roman flinched when he heard his brother list out the things that lurked in this world.

“Speak Spanish…” Romeo simply reminded, not really ready to entertain his metaphorically demented driven son who had a knack for the strange, odd, and clinically insane. Remus let out a depleting sigh, shoulders shrugging and ruffling down to their former position, twitching to a slouch that awkwardly showed too much of his neck. He decided to just give up and wait for his parents to continue, feeling the sting of embarrassment burn him inside out. It wasn’t until the silence in the room became awkward enough that Remus really did look up, seeing an expectant face that littered his dad’s features. Was he really expecting Remus to say all that again in Spanish?

“Como puedes decir whack jobs en español!? [How do you say whack jobs in Spanish!?]” Remus yelled, but he only received a small head shake of disappointment from Romulus. The two fathers dismissed their children, sending Roman upstairs and Remus to prepare for breakfast. With all the preparations and training that the twins had gone through, they surely won’t know how to deal with real-life kids that lurked the halls of a regular public high school, littered with girls, boys, genderfluid and nonbinary beings that raced across the spectrum as well as the many different religions and practices that ran in their own human race…but with Romans hero complex, and Remus’ villain one, they were sure to try, though not alone.


End file.
